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“Juggling!” I shouted, unable to keep the smile off my face. Soon, I was keeping it going for ten or twenty seconds at a time…then longer. I dropped the fruit a few times, but then I managed to get through one rotation without dropping. Toss one piece of fruit from the right hand into the air, then the lime from the left, then the third lime from the right hand while catching the second. I picked up the third lime and started slowly. Maybe this demigod thing was good for something.… It felt strangely simple, like the limes were almost moving in slow motion. I did that a few times, then I did it with two, tossing them gently from hand to hand. I placed the hat and one of the limes on the ground in front of me, then tossed one of the fruits into the air and caught it. I used the rest of the change in my pocket to buy three limes (apples and melons seemed too big) and hefted them as I walked to the corner. About halfway down the block, I saw a man selling fruit from a cart: apples, melons, limes, coconuts. As he clopped over, I tucked the hat under my arm and looked around for something to juggle. “You need it more than I do,” he said, then he took off his new hat and gave it to me. “If anything goes wrong, or the cops come, I’ll sing, um, ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’ That’ll be our time-to-go cue.” Sam looked around, then pointed to an empty spot near some brightly painted canvases. Artists had leaned paintings against the fence to attract passersby. The stretch of sidewalk to the left of the main square was littered with small folding tables where psychics and tarot card readers sat. A gothic-looking cathedral towered over everything, just behind a green-tinged statue of Andrew Jackson (he waved his hat at us). The main park area, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, was enormous and perfectly landscaped. “It’s worth a try.” He led us down to Jackson Square. Sam cocked his head and looked at me curiously for a moment. “I honestly don’t know what else I could do.” “Well, maybe people will appreciate the effort,” I said. “Can you do it without dropping the balls?” Sam wrinkled his nose like he smelled sewage.
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I thought back to all of the street performers I’d seen over the years: break dancers, magicians, guitarists, mimes…none of which was something I could do. I was sure that if I tried to sing or dance, we would end up owing money. I racked my brain, trying to come up with something I could do. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you. WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. I felt ridiculous, but five minutes later, we had four dollars in change sitting in Sam’s new hat. He glanced at me, and I did my best to mirror him. “We gotta dance!” He took a deep breath and started flailing wildly.
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